


Who Am I? (the warm champagne remix)

by snowpuppies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith needs a distraction; her actions have unexpected consequences. AU of 4.16 - Who Are You?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Am I? (the warm champagne remix)

**Author's Note:**

> For big_damn_fest
> 
> Beta'd by Gabrielle. Mistakes are mine!

  
  
  
  


**Who Am I? (the warm champagne remix)**

  
  
  
Buffy shuts her eyes as she rinses the suds from her hair; water drips down the straight line of her nose and onto her chin. Eyes still closed, she shuts off the tap and throws back the curtain. Grabbing a towel, she begins to dry off, wrapping her hair up in a turban.   
  
She studies the tile as she dresses—plain cotton undies, jeans, t-shirt—then allows her hair to cascade down. She brushes it out and secures it in a ponytail at the base of her skull.   
  
Stalking out of the bathroom, she slips into a pair of sneakers, grabs a stake and heads out the door.   
  
Not once does she glance in the mirror.   
  
  
***  
  
  
 _ **"I love you"**  
  
The words echo through Faith's head. Her skin (not her skin, never her skin) feels too-tight, an itch she can't stop, boring into her brain. She wants to scratch until she bleeds (it's about time she spills B's blood, return the favor).  
  
No. No. No.   
  
She can't deal with this shit.   
  
She wants to lie, say it's disgusting, that B's weak for letting that overfed farm boy keep her in his bed. She wants to say she's above all of that, that hearing those words didn't remind her that she's never heard them for herself, at least not with no strings attached.   
  
That she's so jealous of what B's got, she'll wreck herself—wreck everyone and everything—to get it.   
  
She can't lie to herself anymore.   
  
She's as close as she can possibly be to **being** Buffy, and she still doesn't have it. Doesn't have **her**.  
  
Well, fuck that.  
  
  
"Warm champagne, huh? I think you're full of it, Slayer."   
  
He rounds the corner, coat flapping, pale skin nearly glowing in the moonlight. Saved by the bell. Or the chipped vampire, whatever.   
  
She lets a leer stretch across her face as she stalks toward him.  
  
"You know what? Shut. Up."_  
  
  
***  
  
  
She encounters a nest; eight vampires shacked up in a crypt.   
  
They jeer and cat-call and taunt.   
  
She wields her stake in silence, feeling the wood slide deeply, deeply into flesh and bone until it all shatters in a million motes of dust.   
  
The victim says 'thank you'.   
  
She nods.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 _"Oh, that's bloody—"  
  
She's got his pants pulled to his knees and is shimmying out of B's leather trousers, rubbing her ass (Buffy's ass) against his dick.   
  
"Do you always talk so much?"  
  
He returns her leer as she kicks off the constraints and scales him like a mountain, sinking down, impaling herself.   
  
"Always wanted to fuck a Slayer." He struggles for balance, one hand reaching for a tree, the other firmly planted on her ass.  
  
"Think you've got it backwards." She bucks and shoves him to the ground, straddling his hips. "I'm the one doing the fucking."  
  
And if in her head, she's fucking Buffy, well, he's none the wiser._  
  
  
***  
  
  
She returns to the motel as the sun comes up.   
  
She sheds her clothes and crawls between the sheets.   
  
Sleep is a long time in coming.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 _She's riding hard, hips circling, cunt clenching in counterpoint to his thrusts. He's torn her top, and her breasts bounce in the cool night air, nipples pebbling as his fingers rub and tug the sensitive flesh.  
  
Somewhere, deep in the back of her head, she remembers that B's done this. Different vampire, but still…  
  
She jerks away as his nail scratches deep.  
  
"Ow! What're you…?"  
  
He freezes, blue eyes squinting, boring deep inside. She shifts uncomfortably, stifling a moan as his cock rubs just the right spot.   
  
"That didn't hurt. You're…you're not right, are you?"  
  
No, she's not right, she's never been right; that's the whole damn point of this exercise and she doesn't need him to point it out. Gritting her teeth, she lets her fists fly, slamming into that perfect cheekbone.  
  
"Shut up and fuck. Me."  
  
Anything to stop remembering.   
  
"Don't worry, princess." His hands grip her hips and suddenly the world is upside-down and he's flexing and writhing above her. "Now we're gonna have some bloody good fun."_  
  
  
***  
  
  
She wakes to the sound of the phone; she stares at the ceiling as the answering machine clicks on.   
  
Willow's voice floats through the room: "Buffy, you there? Buffy? Well, it's me. Again. Just wanted to check on you. It's been three weeks now and we're all worried. Your mom was here yesterday, just… You know we don't care. You're still Buffy. We just want you to come home."  
  
The machine beeps.  
  
She picks it up and throws it across the room.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 _"Never gonna be enough, are you?" His voice is rough, but smooth—he doesn't need to breathe, the bastard—in her ear while his dick continues to piston into her body.  
  
"Shut. Up." Her body is tingling, amping up to come like a monsoon on steroids—best orgasm in months, easy (not counting the time as coma-girl)—and she thinks she's going to cry.   
  
"Can't even be Buffy right, huh? Should've known it was you all along, she'd never let herself be sullied like this."  
  
Not be sullied by **you** , never give this to you unless you grab on with both hands and take it.   
  
"Fuck you!" She lashes out, fists slamming into his face, his chest, legs wrapping around his hips. She bucks and they flip over again. She's got her hands around his throat, wants to kill the motherfucker, forget breathing, she's gonna rip his head off his shoulders, and she's gritting her teeth and screaming and his eyes are yellow and he lunges…_  
  
  
***  
  
  
The sun is setting as she steps out of the shower. She dries herself, dresses, and puts her hair (not her hair, too dark, too wavy) into a ponytail.   
  
A dark flash catches her attention as she reaches for her stake. It's hurtling through the air before she can blink, smashing into the mirror and splintering it to bits.   
  
A thousand betrayed faces stare back at her.   
  
She grabs her stake.   
  
There are vampires to slay.   
  
  
***  
  
  
 _She comes, screaming, as fangs rip into her throat. She clutches weakly at the back of Spike's neck, fingers twisting in the short hairs.  
  
Eyes fixed on the stars, she counts her pulse (B's pulse) as it slows. Is it romantic that they're dying together—her soul, B's body?  
  
She chuckles, a barely audible huff.  
  
Guess she gets the last laugh.  
  
  
Too bad it's not funny.   
  
  
Not funny at all.   
  
  
  
She takes Buffy's last breath… _  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_FIN_.

 

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/319848.html).


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